Six. That's how old I was when depression first engulfed me. It had manifested itself as a huge black sandstorm of financial debt surrounding me in the graveyard where my mum was buried. I knew nothing of money, and it terrified me. I had chilling nightmares, which riddled me with constant anxiety. It felt like I was losing everything I’d ever known but because I was just a boy, I didn’t know how to talk about it. My dad battled with his own demons, using booze as his crutch, and although I knew he loved me with all his heart, as I did him, in my darkest moments that were to follow, he couldn’t help me.

Grief left me lost in a mental wilderness and as the years passed, my depression took different forms. There were times when I was ‘OK’. As a teenager, I used humour and the ability to ‘act the clown’ to get by but that only made it harder to ever explain the black cloud inside my head. I’d flip from fearless to frightened in the blink of an eye. It was exhausting and went deeper than feeling unhappy: I felt like I was drowning; my soul crumbling. I would take myself away from everything, close the curtains of my room or cycle far out of town and cry uncontrollably, hoping it would somehow get better soon.

It didn’t. And one day in my mid-twenties, not long after a void-filling drunken one-night stand, which had ignited fears of STDs and amplified my anxiety and OCD, I ended up in a heap on the floor with suicide notes scattered around me and as many pills as I could find in my hand. But something stopped me going through with it – and in that moment I knew I had to get help.

I visited a sexual health clinic and after a long, honest discussion, the health adviser noticed that perhaps I was using other void-filling behaviour to mask my feelings: binge drinking. As a kid, witnessing the tumultuous impact of alcohol on my dad, I never thought I’d let it get a hold on me. But alcohol had played a huge part in my depression. So, I started having regular meetings with the health advisor and together we worked on a strategy to tackle my demons – cutting alcohol and talking more about my feelings.

I started to realise it was OK to let my guard down – the world didn’t stop

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Once I started opening up about how I felt – to friends and cousins – I received reactions both of surprise and “it’s about bloody time”. It was if a dam had broken during a brutal earthquake, and the raging waters of emotion flooded out. I started to realise it was OK to let my guard down – the world didn’t stop, and the people around me couldn’t do enough to help. But I also knew there was no quick fix.

Managing my mental health was an ongoing battle and sadly, depression clawed its way back, sinking in its claws more ferociously when my dad passed away. And in 2015, around the first anniversary of his death, which coincided with the end of a roller-coaster relationship, everything came to a head – and I completely crumbled. It was unlike anything I'd experienced. Thoughts of suicide were a regular occurrence but realising what that would do to those closest to me, kept me from sinking fully into the quicksand of depression, and letting my life go. I took a deep breath, got to my feet, and told myself I needed to get better. I spoke to my doctor and a counsellor and made a decision to take myself away: I booked a ticket around the world and gave everything up – my career, my tenancy. It gave me something to focus on.

That journey saved me in every way a person can be saved. And that's why I came back – to share my story, and write a book. Why would I lay myself bare? In the hope it will help others to open up about their depression, too. I want to show that this silent disease is real, and it can take anyone prisoner.

Men, especially, suffer in silence. Masculine ideals and macho bravado builds walls which need to be torn down, and stop men from talking about their mental health. But thanks to male public figures who have opened up about their struggles (Dwayne Johnson, Zayn Malik, Wentworth Miller, Kendrick Lamar, Dan Conn), the conversation is starting to gather pace – and brave voices are getting louder. It shows us that true bravery is finding the courage – our biggest ally – to talk about these things before it destroys us.

Because for too long sufferers have been told to ‘get a grip and just pull yourself together’. But it’s not self-indulgent pity seeking. Depression is a very real problem, and it kills. Only recently Linkin Park lead singer Chester Bennington and Soundgarden vocalist Chris Cornell took their own lives.

Depression continues to be a battle for me, but one that I’m now winning more than losing. By opening up and taking action, I now have the tools to tackle my depression and anxiety. If you think someone you know may be suffering, I urge you to reach out to them, even if it’s met with anger or hostility, you will have sewn a seed in someone else to at least think about the fact there might be something wrong. And I beg anyone suffering in silence not to ignore or repress this fierce condition. The most important thing you can do is recognise there’s something wrong and talk, even if you feel apprehensive. Opening up is taking control, whether it's a face-to-face chat, text, call, or social media post. Because even when you feel so lost you think you might never be found, there is always someone willing to listen. You are not alone.

Larry's book, BEING BRAVE is out now and available on Amazon and Kindle